


Lose Some, Win Some

by WideTheWaters



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter: Wizards Unite
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry smoking, Antagonistic Flirting, Australia, Christmas, Cooking, Divorce, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Famous Ron Weasley, Flirting, Forgiveness, Getting Everything You Want, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Holidays, Hook-Up, Irish National Quidditch Team - Freeform, Keeper Ron Weasley, Losing Everything You Loved, M/M, Moving On, Multi, Neither Bashing Nor Exonerating Ron Weasley, POV Ron Weasley, Past Auror Ron Weasley, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Past Relationship(s), Post-Divorce, Professional Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch Player Ron Weasley, Quidditch World Cup, Ron Weasley Gets His Shit Together, Ron Weasley-centric, Sandwiches, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Time Travel, Video Game: Harry Potter: Wizards Unite, Yule Ball (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21691861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WideTheWaters/pseuds/WideTheWaters
Summary: Ron's got everything he ever wanted.  He's the famous captain of a national Quidditch team performing well leading up to the World Cup. He's got galleons for days. He wakes up with a different beautiful stranger (or several) every morning (or at least afternoon).  He's known and respected and at the top of his game.But he losteverythingto get there, which the Calamity seems determined to rub his nose in.This is a story about a man who had a lot of growing up to do, and who has done enough of it that maybe, just maybe, he can regain a little bit of what he lost.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood, Ron Weasley/Original Character(s), Ron Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Ron Weasley/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26
Collections: Harry Potter: Wizards Re-Unite





	Lose Some, Win Some

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZombieCyborgAssassin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieCyborgAssassin/gifts).



##  _ ❧ December, 2019 - Alice Springs, Australia _

He woke up to the somewhat unfamiliar chill of air conditioning. His head politely informed him that he may have drunk too much alcohol and too little water last night.

With a groan, he opened his eyes to the unrelenting sunshine of summer streaming in through the large, floor-to-ceiling windows. 

He winced and let his head flop back down - that was just  _ cruel,  _ is what it was. 

Although, as he squinted and took stock of his surroundings, he supposed there were benefits.

Ron had fallen asleep on his side - good, good, safer that way, after overindulging - but he suspected that all was just a happy accident. 

Because… well, by the tattoo, the enormous forearm draped over him and the half-hard cock that had somehow stayed up his arse all night -  _ Merlin,  _ was there a bloody  _ sticking _ charm for that? - belonged to Jimmy Varovaro, the legendary Keeper for the Australian National Quidditch team. The tattoo was of an echidna with a parasol. Huh. Ron was sure he would have gotten the story behind  _ that _ last night; shame he couldn’t remember a blessed thing.

And speaking of half-hard cocks… well, Varovaro had married a Muggle-born opal heiress, and Ron was fairly certain that’s who  _ he  _ was still buried in. 

This… this was  _ highly _ improbable. An achievement, that’s what this was. 

Shame he couldn’t exactly tip the press.

He sighed, tracing his hand through the air just over the hourglass curve of Mrs. Varovaro (Millie? Mia?  _ Fuck.  _ Mattie?). He really  _ should  _ hit the gym, but…

But these Aussies. Fuck, but they knew more about the Queen than he did, and he was  _ from  _ England. And they’d all gone absolutely mental…  _ er, right, we don’t say that anymore, Ron _ … gone absolutely  _ wild  _ for all the memoirs about the war. 

And he was a great big sodding war hero, so if he wanted… 

He tugged on the forearm over him, half rousing Varovaro.

“Wha..?” the gargantuan man rumbled, eyes still closed. 

“Mate, is it okay with you, em, if I have another go at,” Ron groped for words, “Er, Maddie-”

“Maya.”

_ That’s _ what it was. Ron nodded. “Right, Maya, is it okay if I just, because, well, I don’t half remember last night and I’m still there, y’know, but don’t entirely recall the best parts of the visit?”

Varovaro nodded sleepily, “Sure, mate, she gives great gobby too, she’d do anything as thanks for that autograph.” Then, after reaching down to pull his cock from Ron with a wet little slurp, his fellow keeper rolled onto his other side and started to snore.  _ Oooh _ , Ron thought, tensing and releasing his buttocks a couple times experimentally. That felt interesting - he couldn’t tell yet good or bad - after all those hours. 

Shrugging, he brushed his hand over  _ Maya’s _ shoulder, feeling twitchy and already gone big and rigid in her hot wet fanny. “Em, Maya, love? What’s  _ gobby  _ mean?”

She stretched and turned to face him, leaving him a little disappointed when his todger flopped loose into the air. But… oh, yeah, the autograph.

He’d scribbled… hell, the auto-texta must have gone off… but he’d scribbled “Roonil Wazlib” across her tits. Like, show off in a bikini, cover in a conservative blouse height, he reckoned.

She saw him looking and giggled, ending with a little squeal. “He’ll cark it for sure when he realizes I’m getting it tattooed.”

He blinked. “Em, would you… er… I could do it again? Only, it’s spelled wrong, and-”

She blinked down, pulling her breasts up toward her face to see them better. “No way, that’s authentic, like misprinted stamps, like sodding  _ Shakspere _ , that is!” She gave him a dazzling grin. “Reckon I’ll be the talk around the pool.”

Ron couldn’t really pull his eyes away from her manhandling of her… Godric, it  _ had _ to be magically enhanced… really  _ remarkably  _ impressive rack. 

She didn’t seem to notice, admiring his handiwork another several seconds before she looked up. “Said you’d fancy some gobby, did you?”

He started to reply, “Er, actually, I asked what…”

But she was already kissing her way rapidly down his chest, and it wasn’t long before he’d figured out the definition from context.

Blearily, he thought he saw one of those whatsits - was that… “Dad?!” He blinked, rubbing his eyes. Huh. No. No, just a… weird, hopping sort of rubber duck. 

Maya’s head just bobbed greedily along, her slurps so loud he didn’t think she’d heard him.

_ Aussies. _

But then the gargling noises started, and he got distracted.

##  _ ❧ _

It was past noon by the time he managed to get to the visitor’s facilities at the stadium. They  _ weren’t _ air conditioned, but at least the excruciating heat was dry, he supposed. And everyone else seemed to have decided to avoid the weight room in the heat of midday. 

Well, except - 

“Ah, Mr. Weasley, so good of you to join us,” sniffed a petite, curvy woman, who stood near the visiting offices, as if poised to glare at any passersby.

Ron mustered a grin, but he knew he probably still looked like he was going to turn and run. “Athie!” he greeted her. 

Then, he tried again in something approaching the usual depth of his voice. “Em, Athie, how are you?” Thing was, he really did enjoy seeing her, even lying in wait and spitting fire like she did. “Good to see you, I was just -”

“-You was just  _ crawling  _ in here after half the daylight hours worth being awake for in the godforsaken shithole had already gone by, reeking of sex, probably without even having eaten anything yet, and doubtless without having written up the strategies you want the team to try tomorrow.” She glared up at him, somehow making him feel very small despite more than a foot’s advantage in height.  _ “Innit?” _

She took him in, giving him exactly the opposite sort of full-body drag to the one that Jimmy and Maya had at the thing last night. Woman had one  _ hell _ of a sneer. Even made  _ Ginny _ frightened, apparently, when she worked for the Harpies.

“Em, well, eh…” He winced, scrunching his eyes as he held up a hand in protest. “I  _ do _ have things drafted,” he said, having made sure to get that far before heading to the charity do for St. Bunji’s, “em, only, I didn’t… well, Athie, you know I’m bollocks at getting them into the proper notebook things, I just,” sighing, he wrinkled those scrunched eyes all the way shut, “I just hoped you’d help me, only, you’re so much better at it than I am, and-”

“Right,” she spat, “No.” Then, she turned on her heel and stomped off into the locker room. 

There was still one other person here. “Morgana, Flint, you look lovely, stop poncing about and go take your wizard to lunch, for the love of all that’s holy,” Athie growled, giving the beater, who was dithering about which tie to wear, a swat on the arse. “And wear the red, you ninny!”

Flint gave the pursuing Ron a commiserating look even as he called after their administrative manager. “Em, thanks, Athie! I’ll be out of your hair quick!”

Ron followed the witch as she stormed through the maze of lockers. “Oh, see you do,” she yelled back, “because it isn’t getting any better-behaved in this sodding desert!”

She finally came to a stop outside, shaking her head in agitation as she lit a cigarette and drew on it like she’d been holding her breath for five minutes, pulling the little orange ring of smoulder consuming the paper back the better part of an inch. 

“Athie!” Ron said, dismayed. “Athie, those things will kill you, they will! Athie, I swear you didn’t smoke-”

“Three months ago when I started trying to herd you hooligans?” she grumbled. “Correct, I did not.”

Still, though. Something about the way her full,  _ angry _ pink-brown lips wrapped around that thing made him think wistfully of the word  _ gobby _ . Also  _ pash _ . He didn’t realize he’d fallen into a sort of reverie, watching her smoke, for several seconds - whereupon, shocked, he shook himself back into reality, where… okay, really, it was  _ allegedly _ reality, where Flint was fucking Oliver Wood and it was actually kind of sweet and also Rose Athie  _ hated _ him with a white-hot passion.

She flicked her eyes up to him just as he snapped out of it, narrowing them slightly. “How long, d’you reckon,” she asked before pausing to exhale a luxuriant cloud of smoke, “did it take me to take up this charming little vice again after you and your merry band of miscreants became my logistical problem?”

Ron blinked at her, feeling very certain that any answer at all was a trap and wondering if he could make an excuse to go away. Maybe… maybe he needed the loo?

Before he could speak, she did. “Mr. Team  _ Captain _ Ronald Bilius Weasley,” she drawled, “I’ve a sandwich and three pumpkin pasties for you in the icebox, and sitting under them you will find your captain’s notebook, which you left on the bench yesterday, conveniently enough.” She glowered up at him again, taking another angry pull at the cigarette. “I took the liberty of liberally annotating it using the sort of vocabulary I have come to learn you understand, in hopes that we might not need to have this conversation,  _ charming _ as it is, a twenty-second time.”

He wondered, watching her dark eyes spark, if she had actually counted, or if she was making it up, but stopped just short of asking. 

“Em, thanks, em, Rose, that was… you didn’t have to…”

She glowered at him dangerously, her ebon puffs of curl fluffing up into an ominously familiar thunderhead. “Yes, I  _ did _ .” She smashed out the butt of the cigarette against the stone wall of the passage back inside, glaring up at him. “If you actually are sorry, Weasley, what say you use some of your own strategic genius to  _ get. your. shit. together.” _ As she sneered down her aquiline nose at him, he gulped. “Maybe then, tomorrow, I  _ really  _ won’t have to.”

He almost saluted, but really, no one up the Auror chain of command had been half so much of a hardass, so he remembered not to let the habit follow him. “Em, yes, Athie! Understood, Athie! Em… er… I’ll try to bring you… something, too?”

She shook her head, walking away from him. “Riiiight. I’ll just hold my breath then, shall I?”

##  _ ❧ _

Ron bit into the sandwich and moaned as the bacon hit his tongue. Just the  _ perfect _ amount of butter. She’d even left him a butterbeer. 

He was determined to make it up to her somehow - he didn’t even think she  _ ate  _ bacon, some weird Muggle thing she hadn’t been able to shake, but no way did she buy this somewhere. He thought she liked corned beef… and, well, he did  _ not,  _ but… 

He sighed. He had to stop leaning so hard on people. He had gotten so much better, in all these years, but sometimes, sometimes, he just really…  _ really  _ wanted a truly terrifying woman to just take  _ care _ of him. Just… sometimes. Was that so wrong?

He blinked, shaking his head at himself and muttering aloud. “Ron, you have finally lost the flipping plot,” he said, shaking his head as he chewed. 

Only then, maybe he really had, because …  _ Hermione _ was standing there.

##  _ ❧ _

_ Hermione _ . Standing right there. Right sodding  _ there. _

With  _ Krum _ . In a bloody  _ bubble _ .

In her… in her Yule Ball dress robes.

With  _ Krum _ , who had his hand on the small of her back as they tried to get out, banging on the bubble walls.

Right, these were Confoundables. Em. Calamity, thing. God, he could only listen to Harry and Gethsemane drone on about it so long, but… if he just cast a  _ Bombarda  _ at it, breaking the spell actually  _ keeping _ them here, he wouldn’t… he… wouldn’t need to look at her anymore and remember everything he’d lost for not being a grown up, even remotely at all, when she already had been for ages.

_ Godric _ , but she looked so beautiful. 

Suddenly, he found he’d mustered the will to straighten his spine. 

_ Right _ . The people bit, that was the Foundable. Foundables? The Confunded (Confounded? bollocks if he knew...) bit of it all was an  _ Ebublio  _ jinx. Only… wait. 

This was the variant mum and George used at Christmas. The type you made into little baubles to decorate, with the little thing to fix a hook or a ribbon to on top, and they didn’t work so well as prisons. Only… only… when George had started sticking garden gnomes in instead of little fairies, Mum had...

Hoping he was right, Ron stepped up next to the little bubbled prison, and reached in - and right through - its wall, snatching her about the waist with his long arm and speedily yanking her clear.

##  _ ❧ _

He stepped back, giving her personal space, the second he’d pulled her clear. 

He needed the space, too. It had  _ worked _ , and his head was spinning.

He thought she’d been squinting at him before he got her, but she certainly was now, her eyes darting between the bubble o’ Krum (heh, he’d have to get George to make some joke thing called that) and him in confusion and concern. 

Finally, seeing that Victor seemed confused but unharmed and oblivious, while Ron… well, she  _ thought _ Ron… was looking right at her… 

“Ron?” she asked, stepping tentatively toward him.

He smiled sheepishly, giving a little shrug as he held open his arms to her. “Em, welcome to 2019?”

With a little gasp of shock her eyes widened, but still, a beat later, she walked right into his arms.

Just. Like. That.

_ This was what it was like _ , he thought, pulling her into him and feeling the raw pieces of his soul flutter,  _ when she  _ trusted _ me. _

##  _ ❧ _

“Ron, I’m terribly confused. Have… have you been playing with time travel?” 

The love of his life, albeit at 15, looked up at him with earnest, blinking eyes.

He tried to gather his wits about himself, letting his arms fall back to his sides awkwardly. “Em, no, this one isn’t my fault - or yours, or Harry’s. It’s a widespread thing, called the Calamity. It’s as if, well, recent British magical history threw up its Pensieve memories all over the world, only something’s guarding each of them when it appears. And they appear, well, everywhere, lots. Like, I swear, I’ve seen this troll lose a fight with a flesh-eating slug at least a hundred times, ‘Mione, it’s hilarious-”

She cleared her throat delicately.

“Em, right,” he said, one hand drifting up to massage the back of his neck. “So… you got whisked here from the past, and, em, you’re half of a set, so - well, if you’re not in there, he can’t just disappear - which happens if you ignore Confoundables - er, as they’re called - long enough. But, em, if I freed you both, there’s some chance you might be stuck here? I mean, not in a timeline-altering, doom, doom, Voldemort wins sort of way, there are loads of copies, but-”

“Wait - wait wait wait,” she interrupted. “We… we  _ beat  _ him?!” she breathed, her eyes dancing with hope.

He smiled, nodding. “We did, yeah. You… you destroyed a dark artefact that was helping keep him alive, actually, in the Chamber of Secrets with a fang from the basilisk.”

She gasped, her hands flying over her mouth. “Ron, should you be telling me that? What if everything goes wrong, now?” She looked so sincerely beside herself. It was such a  _ Hermione _ way to look.

Slowly, he shook his head. “No, see, when you go back… well, when you go back, you won’t remember this. What happens in your future, stays in your future.”

She blinked. “I destroyed this thing, whatever it was, with a basilisk fang?”

He nodded, smiling wistfully and looking distant.

Her eyes narrowed. “And … what else?”

He blinked, not certain what he’d done but automatically pulling all the innocence he could muster around himself. “Wha? Em, I just…”

She glared at him. “What  _ else _ , Ronald? What else were you going to say?”

_ Oh, that little foot-stamping thing. She did that, she did it all the time, didn’t she? _

It was funny the things you could get nostalgic over. 

And… it couldn’t hurt, he supposed.

“Well…” he said, looking at her cautiously. “Right after that, we… well, that was when we kissed for the first time.”

Hermione’s cheeks immediately went all pretty and flushed.  _ God, she was even good at blushing, that bloody miracle of a woman. _

“Ah… oh.” Hermione looked down, then up at him, and then down, and then up at him, and then… she darted forward and seized his left hand with a gasp. She’d spotted the tiny tattooed otter that still swam circuits around the base of his ring finger.

And then she looked up at him, her eyes huge. “Oh, Ron, this…"

He followed her eyes, blushing. "Em, yeah. I kept busting my hands up so my fingers'd swell and I'd have to get the band cut off, or I'd misplace it, during the Ministry league matches when it couldn't be under my gloves, so…"

"But… but this is my favorite animal and…" she made a little happy, flailing hand gesture, "and it's, the tattoo's a  _ wedding _ band, right? So we got married?!” 

Tears were filling her eyes but she was smiling with the bright burn of the desert sun.

His voice cracked as he smiled, his eyes filling too, and whispered “Yes.”

And she ran at him and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

##  _ ❧ _

It took him a moment of his stomach failing to remember which way was up, first. 

And then, it took him a moment to lean into her with all the weight of the maturity he,  _ finally _ , had the advantage of, and all the experience, and bend her into a dip over his arm and make her toes curl with the machinations of his now well-traveled and widely-educated tongue. 

But when his hand started to trail down her side as she moaned his name in encouragement, she felt so… thin, and young, and he startled, and for a moment had to concentrate just on not dropping her. 

After which he, making sure she was steady on her feet (if panting), gently lifted his hands away from her and took a large step back, holding his hands up in front of him. 

“‘Mione, we… we did, but we were too young, and I was an absolute idiot.”

Hermione, lips red and looking well-snogged, gaped at him in horror.  _ “No,” _ she whispered. “Oh, oh no no no no no!”

He winced at every syllable. “‘Mione, I … you got offered a… a  _ really _ important job, alright, and I said… and I said I made enough money for our family, what with moonlighting at… well, you don’t know about them yet, but I invented some things, and… well, I thought it was time to start a family, we were already 21 but you kept casting the contraceptive charms, and I just…”

She looked at him in dawning horror.

“...I just completely failed to understand your needs,” he sighed, sinking onto a bench and feeling at least three times his present age. “I failed to take it seriously when you told me about  _ your _ norms and what  _ you _ prioritized, and I resented you and Harry both having high-profile accomplishments when I’d turned down the Cannons to be an Auror to keep us together, and I completely and utterly bollocksed  _ everything _ up, Hermione. And you left me.”

He looked down at the tiled floor, marinating in self-loathing, as he listened to her trying to smooth the jagged, weeping edges out of her short, sharp breaths.

Finally, he heard her speak, her voice mostly steady. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Ron. You… this was ages ago, to you, now. Are we not..?”

He shrugged, eyes still downcast. “We have drinks under Harry’s supervision sometimes. It's gotten easier. My mum still likes you even though she didn’t understand. Ginny still randomly up and kicks me in the shin about it,  _ still _ does. Em. You… become the youngest-ever Minister for Magic, and I’m team captain and Keeper for the Irish National Quidditch Team.”

She blinked at him, though he still wasn’t looking at her. “You…  _ emigrated?” _

He shrugged. “I thought it might help, after. It’s weird; I wasn’t alone. Pansy Parkinson - do you bloody believe it,  _ Pansy _ Parkinson? - is my stylist - and  _ I _ still can’t believe I have one of those, thanks - and… and Blaise Zabini is my personal trainer. In Dublin!” He shook his head, chancing a quick glance up at her and seeing her smiling sadly at him, not angry.

It was an expression that always used to make his blood boil, only now he thought he’d do  _ anything  _ just to have her direct it at him a little bit longer.

He sighed. “Listen, ‘Mione, you should get back. Enjoy the ball. You won’t remember this. Have fun with…” he fought back a grimace, mostly succeeding, “ _ Viktor.” _

She smiled at him, nodding. “I think maybe I should.”

She hesitated, though, standing there and looking at him.

He made himself look up and meet her eyes. “Look, I know you probably won’t remember this, but 15-year-old me, well, I’m about to be a raving jealous arse to you at that ball, and you should… you should smirk at me and walk away and dance with Krum and enjoy your evening because I’m a damned fool and I’m so fucking sorry.”

She arched a brow. “Language, Ronald.”

He moaned and rolled his eyes, slumping back to look up at the ceiling. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Then, she was somehow right next to him, picking up his hand again. “You… you kept the tattoo, though. Why? You know, there  _ is _ a charm for that, I can tell you the book. Surely you don’t  _ want _ to keep it?” She peered at him, brow furrowed. 

He met her eye then, looking confused that she'd asked such a thing. "’Course I do! Always.”

She looked a little teary again, nipping at her lip, and he wondered if it had been the wrong thing to say.

Until she threw her arms around him. 

“I love you, Ronald Weasley - so I loved you, and I can’t imagine I ever won’t, even if things don’t work as we both might have hoped. Please... be sure you at least know that. And… I  _ forgive  _ you, too.” she murmured in his ear, then she ran right through the wall of the bubble - which, with a little  _ pop _ , dissipated, taking its contents with it.

##  _ ❧ _

When he walked out of the showers around ten the next morning, twitching his back, chest, and shoulders to try to tease out the burn left by the weights, he headed straight to the little kitchen for something to drink.

And there was Athie, sitting tailor fashion on one of the chairs at the little table, devouring one of the corned beef sandwiches he’d left in the icebox and flipping through his updated notebook of strategy notes. The official one, which automatically updated all the players’ books, too.

She glanced up at him, chewing slowing with a sort of habitual mistrust when he extended his hand to her, holding the peace offering.

“What’s this then?” she asked, plucking the pack of Benson & Hedges from his fingers and looking between it and him with furrowed brow.

“Em, I thought… I thought I might have made you blow through more than you’d planned, well, yesterday, so-”

She shook her head as she tossed the little box across the room to land neatly in the bin. “Nah, I’ve quit.”

He blinked, shifting his weight from foot to foot and stuffing his hands in his track pants’ pockets. “You… you have? That’s… well, that’s brilliant! When?”

She her gaze flicked up to him before returning to her sandwich. “Just now. Five seconds ago.” She took a bite, her eyes flickering closed as she chewed, a little satisfied huff of air sighing through her nose.

He stood awkwardly, watching her as she chewed and, eventually, swallowed. Then, she opened her eyes, looking up at him. “Well, you come here to gawk, or..?”

He shook himself, tripping over to grab some water from the cool-spelled reservoir. “Em, sorry, just… just wanted to know if I did it right, ‘s all.”

She twitched her brows up, tilting her head to one shoulder then the other as she considered. “It’ll do. But what I really want to know is where you learned to make this sandwich.”

He grinned, “Oh, yeah, that’s me Mum. My ex, see, she gave me a hell of a parting speech about the areas in which I could use, er, domestic improvement, and everyone agreed with that one, so I got a bit of a crash course.”

She nodded, eyeing him speculatively as she polished off the rye-wrapped repast and stood. “Right. Well,” she said, standing to set her plate to washing itself in the basin and then leaning back against the counter. 

“Right,” he said, feeling a little breathless and confused as she bustled around and he kept feeling a step behind.

She stared at him a long moment. “Tell you what, then, Weasley.”

“Eh?” he blinked.

She continued with a little shake of her head. “Keep making me those while we’re stuck in this hellish firepit, and I’ll let you buy me a pint when we’re home, yeah?”

His mouth fell open. Had he wanted that?

Shit, he’d  _ wanted _ that.

She smirked as she watched his thoughts play over his face, giving him a rather more friendly little squeeze to his hindquarters than the swat she’d allotted Flint the day before as she walked out and back toward the offices. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so so much to granger_danger, who made her beta-ing debut on this piece and is generally the bee's knees besides. 
> 
> Also, thanks to Adora Belle Dearheart, of Terry Pratchett's Ankh-Morpork, and Mamusu "Rose" Grant, of The Rivers of London series, for inspiring an original character in here.
> 
> Aaaaaaand ZombieCyborgAssassin, it's about time I gave you pressie, and I hope I didn't too badly mischaracterize things in your neck of the woods along the way. 💕


End file.
